apologies for the long wait. when it rains it pours -if you know what I mean?
THE FEAST — part one —
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"YOU ARE TWO HOURS EARLY," Frigga informed her son as he stomped inside her private study equipped with his lesson book and a sour disposition. She glanced up from her paperwork with curiosity only to watch as Loki shuffled over to a nearby sofa and flopped dramatically onto it face first.
She cringed at the angle at which he fell and the resounding thud from the velocity of his swan dive, before suddenly and without warning he flipped over onto his back.
The queen held back an amused smile at her son's childish pout, thinking of all the times he had come to her and done the very same thing during his youth. Usually, it meant he was brooding and was accompanied by an orchestra of sighs, but he had yet to begin huffing and puffing so she turned her gaze back to her work.
Hardly getting through a single word, Loki heaved a heavy breath that sent a few wisps of hair fluttering in its wake. Some things never change. Figga thought to herself, still biting back a smile.
Shaking her head, she briefly returned to her documents expecting Loki to eventually go into detail about what troubled him, although when he sighed for the third time and still had yet to attempt any polite conversation the mother grew rigid with worry. She could no longer focus enough to read all the words on the paper despite her attempts and when he sighed for a fourth time she spoke.
"That is quite the long face for such a handsome boy," She teased, scooting the papers aside on her desk and putting her full attention on the boy silently stewing in his corner. Her attempt hardly roused even the faintest smirk, in fact, it made his frown deepen into a scowl unbecoming of a prince. "Is everything alright?" Frigga gently asked.
Loki jerked his head up and down in reply, indicating he'd rather not talk about whatever was on his mind.
His mother decided otherwise, spewing off a few guesses, "Is it Thor?" She was quickly met with a curt head shake. "Lost something? Need something?" Another stern shake of his head. "Has your father done something to upset you?"
"No," Loki grumbled.
She frowned, "Then tell me what has you in such a strange mood!" Frigga stressed, "You are worrying me sick with all this ill-explained moping and elaborate sighs, I can hardly focus on my work."
Her gentleness broke the boy's resolve and he felt himself sink lower into the plush cushions of the fabric sofa, suddenly embarrassed, "I have been rejected." He muttered softly, nearly too soft to discern but his mother was far too sharp to miss such a predictable tactic.
Leaning against her desk she reached out a delicate hand for her child despite not being close enough to touch, "I'm very sorry to hear that,"
Loki recoiled from her offer, sitting up quite suddenly to lean his back against the sofa arm while crossing his arms over his chest to appear unfazed, "Don't be, I hardly even care."
